


Nostos

by raedbard



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-01
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/pseuds/raedbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby is glad he signed the lease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostos

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle VI, to the prompt 'home'.

He is in the middle of brushing his teeth the first time, on the first full day in the apartment, surrounded by the packing crates which have made it even into the bathroom. He has his back to the door so he jumps a little when Sam presses a kiss into his shoulder and when he turns round can't say anything because his mouth is full of foam. Sam smiles, and it is a beautiful smile, lazy and sweet and born of just a little too long in bed. His hair is parted in three different ways at once - the messiest Toby has ever seen it when he hadn't had a hand in disarraying it himself. He moves as if to straighten it out and not because it doesn't turn him on, but Sam shakes his head and takes hold of Toby's wrist and kisses the long vein that runs the length of his forearm, kisses the new stubble on his cheek and falls to his knees with his fingers in the waistband of Toby's pyjamas. His lips first, over the cotton, languorous open-mouthed sweeps pressed against Toby's cock for a second and then brushed away; then his hands rubbing Toby's thighs, hips, following round in spirals until he finds those two spots behind Toby's knees which when stroked make all the muscles in his legs want to give him up for dead; then pulling down the pyjamas with a little sigh which sounds ... happy, like coming home. His mouth is hot, but tender. He presses kisses on top of kisses, licks ice-cream cone swoops across the head, sucks at the thick vein and allows Toby to stroke its length against the arc of his cheekbone. He wraps one arm around Toby's waist and the other around his cock and doesn't open his eyes or come up for air until Toby is choking on toothpaste foam and holding tight to Sam's shoulders, rubbing out the last of his orgasm against his cheek.

"Glad you signed the lease?" Sam asks afterwards, as Toby is straightening his tie in the mirror.

"Wondering whether your impulse to do ... _that_ will last out the year."

Sam's hand is light on his shoulder. His thumb makes circles just above Toby's collarbone. A kiss pressed to the back of his neck and Sam's hand slipping round to take his: cool, slim fingers, same as ever.

"It will."

Later, in the first bed they have ever been able to call their own, Toby makes the familiar, long-wished-for, never promised journey across Sam's body. He was asleep, but he isn't now though his answers to Toby's questions - his hand twisted in Sam's hair, his belly pressed down over Sam's erection, his mouth leaving red clamshell marks at the opening of Sam's thighs - are slow and dreamlike. They spend longer kissing now than they used to before, as though the new space has closed a little gift of time around them, to be spent in profligate luxury: Sam's little sighs which Toby always stopped himself thinking about and touches that start gentle and never turn violent, because they are no longer snatched out of longer days, more important concerns. Sam's legs fall open without Toby needing to ask and close again around his back. The sharp points of his ankles rub at the flesh just above Toby's hips and cause a wave of fragile, trembling arousal to cripple Toby's stroke and bring his head down on Sam's chest, breathing ragged and his cock twitching and heavy on Sam's stomach.

They grapple, half-heartedly but Sam wins - pinning Toby's hips to the bed and his holding both his wrists in one hand. He sits there and stares, with a slow smile breaking over his face.

"I give it eighteen months," Toby says. And Sam laughs, mouth open and red and his grip loosening on Toby's wrists. He leans further forward, presses a light kiss across Toby's mouth. As Toby reaches for another, Sam pulls away.

"The common consensus," he says, pulling Toby's erection into his free hand, "Is three years. I think."

"You think."

"I've never tested it out."

"I'll go out and buy a three year diary tomorrow. We'll keep notes."

Sam tugs on his cock, narrowing his eyes. Toby pulls one hand out of his grip, strokes his fingers over Sam's cheek, tries to learn in one pass the texture of the grey stubble he finds there before he remembers that he doesn't have to this time, that his life has been remade around a promise he never thought he would make again. Sam kisses him: mouth, chin, cheekbone, temple. Sam smiles: _home_.


End file.
